Azrael Drabbles
by Notatracer
Summary: Darker short stories I’ve written about Azrael during my writer’s block. They do exist in my universe, so PLEASE read my other fics first otherwise you’ll get lost.
1. Contents

What follows are a bunch of really short stories that I wrote during the writer's block for Part 5. They aren't connected by anything other than the fact that they all exist in the same universe, so you should make sure you read Parts 1-4 first (Hell's Napkin, Uncomfortably Green, Leviticus Sandbox, Something Wrong). There is one small reference to the unfinished prequel in Induction, but I think you can manage. A couple of these are pretty harsh and dark, so don't read if you have a delicate constitution.

contents:

2. Induction (7/12/03)

Takes place just after Azrael arrives in Hell for the first time and he still has his wings... for a few minutes at least. Thanx to khohen1 for naming it. XD

3. Untitled aka the gross one (7/16/03)

Takes place sometime after the humans arrived, but while the demons were still fucking with his head 24/7. I only have one word for it: yuck.

4. Delilah (7/13/03)

I hate Delilah and find it nearly impossible to write for her. She has the brain of a fruit fly. This sucks big time, but not as sucky as it did the first time I wrote it. This is how they met for the second time.

5. Azrael Quits 1 (5/14/03)

I assure you, this is not as stupid as it sounds... and I'm not crazy (hehe). But, I did have a fever of 103F, so that may explain some things. Basically, the premise is after "Something Wrong" is posted, Azrael gets pissed off about how poorly he was portrayed so he quits being the muse for the fictional author N.A. Tracer. It's different. 

6. Azrael Quits 2 (5/14/03)

The 2nd part of the story. This one's first person Azrael blasting "Something Wrong". Inspired the unfinished prequel.


	2. Induction

When one normally thinks of falling from Heaven, they may imagine several scenarios from an actual physical free fall to just suddenly appearing in Hell fully demonized. Some of that may have been true for the other fallen angels, but for Azrael things never ever went the easy way.

One moment, he was on his knees before God Almighty, the next he was in darkness. Not complete and total darkness, but it was still such that his angelic eyes were unaccustomed to. It was dim and cold.... so very cold. And empty. The everlasting love was gone. Azrael shivered uncontrollably as he stood, his tattered wings drooping behind him. He was cold, and alone... and scared. He had never experienced fear before and didn't like it one bit. He began to cry. Not a quiet weep, but an uncontrollable flood. He cried even more than he had ever done that day in Heaven. He was still an angel, he still had the ability to cry... and being a Muse he was quite sensitive.

A noise. A quiet chuckle that startled Azrael with it's cruelty. He turned to see the smiling face of the demon he would later come to know as Saminga. A moment later, Saminga hit him across the face hard enough where if he had been human, his nose would have broken. Azrael's hand immediately went to his nose, trying to stop the flood of bright red blood that poured from it. He looked at Saminga with large, wet eyes not understanding. He had never felt pain before. Not actual physical pain.

Saminga laughed. A disgusting laugh. Azrael closed his eyes at the sound of it. Tears and blood were both still flowing heavily. The blood was pooling so much in his hand that he had to let go of his nose and just let if flow freely. 

Saminga hit him again, this time knocking him face down onto the cold ground below. Saminga stood one foot onto Azrael's back then grabbed his right wing and snapped it in half. Azrael cried out. He was beyond words, but in his mind he tried to call out to his creator.

"Oh, God, where are you? Please help me. I'm sorry. Please, God.... don't forsake me. I'm sorry."

And so forth with apologetic desperate prayers. Saminga twisted the broken half of the wing until it came free. What was left of the wing throbbed and gushed blood. Saminga tossed the broken half onto the ground in front of Azrael. Seeing the mangled, bloody wing made him cry even harder than the pain had. And, what a pain it was. A wing is a body part to an angel. Saminga might as well have been ripping off an arm.

Azrael tried to move, but Saminga stepped on him harder. The nub that had once been Azrael's right wing moved slowly as if he were trying to fly. Saminga grabbed his left wing and with one good pull, jerked it completely off. Azrael yelled out , "Help me!" completely in vain. He then pressed his forehead to the ground and sobbed.

Saminga pulled the remains of the right wing off. Azrael was now completely wingless. He should have been mortal, with all the blood he should have been bleeding to death. In fact that was what he was praying for. No longer was he asking for forgiveness, he was asking to be allowed to die.

His blood stopped pouring out red, but instead began coming out pitch black. He felt cold inside... he felt like death. He thought for a moment that he was dying before he figured out that he wasn't so lucky. Saminga lifted his foot and took a step back, always grinning if not outright laughing at the pain he caused.

Azrael grabbed the part of his wing that was closest to him, and held it close as he sat up. He hugged the wing as he cried out his last few tears.

"Why, Lord, what did I do?"

He closed his eyes and looked up, tears still flowing down his face. 

"Why... why..."

Then, he choked on a sob but nothing came out. His body wracked. His eyes were completely dry. There were no tears for demons. No sympathy for the damned.

A blinding pain coming from his forehead almost made him forget his wings. He dropped the wing and held his head in his hands as a pair of horns grew from his skull, ripping their way out. They bled this first time they made an appearance. Not his newly acquired black blood, but the last of his red blood... of which stained them for all eternity as yet one more constant reminder of what he was and what he had become. 

Saminga laughed and kicked him, but Azrael didn't move. He just sat there, defeated and unable to lift his head from his hands. 

"I'm going to enjoy having you around.", was the last thing Saminga said before he left. But, he would return again and again... sometimes with others. Azrael was the demons' plaything. They all knew he didn't belong. He was the very thing they were looking for to stave off the boredom of the Pit... the one soul amongst them who would suffer from their cruelty the most and be able to retaliate the least. They would violate, abuse, torture, anything they could do to harm him. Sometimes things that humans couldn't even begin to fathom. Often times the things that they did to him were ordered by Lucifer himself in an effort to break his soul, other times they did it of their own accord... it was fun for them. Some days he felt little, some days he felt everything. But, every day he felt the pain of separation from God, and that was worse than any physical pain inflicted by the fucking demons. So much worse.


	3. Untitled Gross One

"Drink it!", snarled Lucifer, his beautiful face contorted to that of anger, as he shoved the golden chalice forward again.

"I can't," replied Azrael.

"You can and you will!"

They were in the grand chamber of the Morning Star's palace. Lucifer was sitting on his throne, chalice in hand. Azrael was on his knees before him, being held in place on one side by Saminga and on the other side by Diriel. Each demon was holding him by his arms and had their other hands on his shoulders. Every time he tried to stand, they shoved him back down. To the right of Lucifer, stood Melchom, a smirk on his face. 

"Why?! This proves nothing."

"It's not supposed to prove anything... but that doesn't mean I won't enjoy it. I could destroy you, but you please me. Your God doesn't love you. He is never coming for you. He has turned a deaf ear to your pleas and prayers... I hear them all. He doesn't want you. In all probability, He hates you. I, on the other hand, take you in. Give you a chance to create. Allow you passage to the mortal realm..."

Lucifer reached down and grasped Azrael by the chin and tilted his head so they were eye to eye.

"Do you understand me, Muse? I will never treat you the way He did. I giveth while the Lord taketh away. I will never abandon you. You are _mine_ for all eternity. _All_ _mine_."

Lucifer dropped his hand from Azrael's chin, and smiled. Azrael's eyes immediately went back to looking at the floor. He shivered at the thousands of memories that he'd rather forget, which had resurfaced at the way Lucifer said 'all mine'.

"Now drink it before I have these two tear you apart with their bare fucking hands."

Lucifer shoved the chalice to Azrael's lips and forced the liquid inside. Up until that very moment, though he had his suspicions, Azrael didn't know for sure what it was that Lucifer was trying to force him to drink. But, just as he suspected, it was blood... thick, warm, red, complete with a coppery flavor. The taste alone, much less the thought of it, made him want to gag... of which it was impossible for him to do.

Once the entire digestive system was taken away from demons, angels, and the like, there was no place for liquids or solids to go if actually ingested. Hence why everyone spit back out the things they wanted to taste. If it couldn't be absorbed in the mouth, such as sugar, then it was inedible. They had no stomachs or bowels, no internal organs... except for a brain, but it wasn't a physical object like a human brain. So technically there were no internal organs at all. Anything that happened to be swallowed could only go down so far, and then it was immediately expelled. 

Lucifer wouldn't let up until the entire cup was empty. Once Azrael swallowed all that he could, the rest flowed back out of mouth. He couldn't do anything but just let it happen. He was powerless to stop them from doing whatever they wanted.

Lucifer sat back and smiled at the queasy Azrael, eagerly anticipating the inevitable. Saminga and Diriel took a step back. Not more than a moment later, Azrael doubled over and puked every ounce of the blood onto the floor. He remained on his hands and knees, coughing, until Saminga and Diriel pulled him to his feet. 

Azrael groaned, "Can I go now?"

"You may go when they are bored of you, dear Muse."

With an almost regal wave of his hand, Lucifer dismissed the demons. Saminga and Diriel drug Azrael off to have their morbid fun at his expense. Lucifer looked down at the mess that had been made on his floor, then over at Melchom.

"Clean that up." 


	4. Delilah Story

The Valley Of Sorek. Not the most hospitable place on Earth, but it sure beat the hell out of, well, Hell. They had sent Azrael up to find a certain man in order to have him blinded and captured. When he arrived at the man's house, however, he found that the job had already been taken care of by someone who looked quite familiar... Delilah. 

He remained invisible for a moment, watching the scene unfold before him. As soon as everyone but Delilah left, with her back to him, he appeared leaning against a table. He was looking down towards his feet, his hat obscuring his face. He looked completely out of place with this era of human history.

"Not bad for an angel."

She turned.

"How did you know I..."

She stopped short as he lifted his head. A visible shiver ran over her as she looked into his cold, dark eyes. A look of recognition that she was in the presence of a demon instantly registered across her face. He smiled the most sincere smile that he could muster, which still looked just as fake as it was.

"The name's Azrael. I was sent up to blind that fuck... but it looks like you took care of that for me. So... is there anything to do around here?" 

Delilah shook her head, clearly not comprehending. As far as she was concerned, she had never met a demon before. No one had yet bothered to tell her anything about her past.

"I... I... don't..."

Azrael sighed as he stood straight and tossed his hat onto the table. Delilah's eyes went wide at the sight of his stubby little horns.

"No matter."

He strolled around the room. She watched him with her eyes only. He could tell that she was afraid to move. It wasn't often that someone, especially someone from the ethereal plane, appeared to be afraid of him. 

He came to a stop directly behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. He leaned down and sniffed at her hair... the smell of Heaven.. no greater scent in all of existence. The scent alone made him light headed. He pressed close against her.

"What do you want?"

"Honestly?"

"Yes?"

"I want to rape every ounce of purity from your body, as you to scream my name in pain and ecstasy. I want to fuck you up. But, more importantly I want to fuck you, angel."

Delilah was quiet for a long moment.

"But... you can't."

Azrael growled and shoved her away from him. By the time she turned around, he was pacing slightly. 

"You think I don't fucking know that?! You uppity fucking angel types think you know everything. You don't know shit."

"I know you're lonely."

He stared at her, no doubt anger evident on his face. She looked at him and smiled. For that he backhanded her across the face.

"Fuck what you know."

He grabbed his hat off the table and stormed out the door. He sat down on the steps just outside the house. He looked up at the night sky, wondering how much longer he had before They called him back. A quiet scuffling of feet told him that she had followed him outside. A moment later, she sat down beside him, a large pink splotch forming on her cheek.

Without looking at her he said, "Go away."

"I'm lonely too."

"I don't care. You don't know anything about me."

"Sure, I do. I lived with Watchers long enough to pick up a few things. You're miserable."

"Understatement of the millennium."

He looked over at her, his expression had gone to that of sadness. She leaned forward quickly, intent on planting a kiss on him. The exact second that their lips touched, he shoved her away.

"Knock that shit off!"

He looked down, listening to the several voices that filled his mind that were not his own. He let out a painful sigh.

"What's wrong?"

"They're calling me back... look... here..."

He put his hand to the side of her face, his fingers in her hair and closed his eyes. He mentally showed her how to call out to others with her mind. He let go of her. She blinked at him.

"It's just if you ever get bored..."

He shrugged, then stood. She looked up at him.

"I'll let you know. See you later... pookie."

He frowned down at her.

"Don't fucking call me pookie!"

He disappeared back off to Hell, immediately regretting showing her how to call out to him.


	5. Azrael Quits 1

"This Is The Intro I Was Forced To Write", by N.A. Tracer

"One hundred and three degrees... fuck," I said as I looked down at the thermometer I had just pulled from my mouth. I sighed. One of those long, pained sighs that someone gets when they have a serious case of writer's block... and mine was no ordinary case. I had single handily offended my very own muse. It wasn't on purpose, really. Though he doesn't believe that. I had simply told the truth, but my muse wasn't happy. Not that he ever was happy, but he was exceptionally displeased about this. Now he was on strike, leaving me without a single idea in my head. 

It all started innocently enough a few months ago. He would never call me by name. Humans did not deserve the distinction of an actual name in his mind. I would come to know many of the thoughts that were in his dark brain. I never saw him, only felt his presence.

I had a cold that particular night. But, going by that old creed that a 'writer writes', I had sat in front of a blank computer screen for half the night. I sneezed and coughed and sniffled. I was wondering if maybe I should just write the script for the guy with a talking penis movie that I know one day I'm going to make. It seemed inevitable. I tried and tried, but nothing came about. Not a single idea for any type of story or script. Not a single word.

Sometime around two or three in the morning, a violent shiver ran down my spine. In my mind was a light whisper that I dismissed as being my own overactive imagination. It was almost as if a voice, a gentle male voice was in my head. Though I couldn't understand a word of it, or even believe that it was anything at all. Before I realized it, I had begun to type. What I wrote was disjointed at first. The longer I typed, the voice became increasingly more annoyed sounding.

Finally, it yelled inside my mind, "No, no, no! You're writing MY story... do it with feeling." 

I looked at up nothing, of course, and snapped back, "Why don't you write your own story?"

"I don't write stories, I inspire them. Now, I want you to write my story. That fucking movie my sister inspired made me look like the bad guy. I'm the victim. Now type."

I had no idea who he was or what he was talking about. Just a displaced, angry voice filling my mind. It made little sense. He began to fill my mind full of images, not words. Pictures of what he had seen and done, what he had felt. I knew I wouldn't be able to properly put it all into words, but I did what I could.

__

Rain flooded from the mournful black sky...

A few hours later, it was done. Then, I read it back for the first time... realizing what it was I was looking at. I looked at nothing, not entirely believing it.

"Dogma? Your sister inspired Dogma? You don't expect me to believe that, do you? And this..."

The voice sighed.

"This is mine. Now go... make it known."

"But, people are just going to think its fan fiction. Like it was based off that movie."

The voice was quiet for a long moment.

"I don't have the ability to inspire anything on such a large scale as she. This so-called fan fiction is my last hope of getting at least some sympathy. God holds the mortals' opinions in higher regard than any other creation. Maybe if enough of them see what a raw deal I got, I might be able to get back in. Or at least be allowed to die. Whichever. Anything's better than Hell."

"I don't know..."

"All my best stuff got cut out of that fucking movie! Anything that would present my side ended up on the cutting room floor thanks, no doubt, to Serendipity. I can't help that if I want to die, I have to take the whole of existence with me."

I thought about it. What would it hurt, right? I immediately began to look for a place where my muse could tell his story.

Four stories later and all had gone wrong. On the fourth, I had painted him in a very unflattering light. I told it like he had allowed it to appear. He should be thankful that I didn't go into explicit detail about his week as a human. I considered the version I told to be mild in comparison to what I had seen in my mind. Especially not even so much as mentioning how he occupied most of his time during the three days I had skipped over.The pizza and porn story was not one to be repeated in polite company.

When he saw what I had written, he was pissed. What could he have been expecting, though? He had gone on strike, of sorts. His voice had left my mind. And, on top of that, every ounce of creativity was gone from me. All I could do was write long pointless emails to strangers. 

May 14, 4:45 am.... 103 degrees in the head...

I looked idly at my computer screen. I had put a rather psychotic looking picture of my muse up as my desktop background in the hopes that inspirado would strike without the voice. No such luck. The Word page stared blankly at me. The screen itself seemed almost angry, pensive. Then, a familiar shiver ran over me. This time, however, it was accompanied by a hand on my shoulder. I was startled at the touch, but I knew he was standing behind me without turning around. Even without ever having seen him outside of my mind, I knew it was my muse. 

Without a word, he pushed me none too gently from my chair onto the floor. Then, he sat in my place in front of the computer screen. I scowled up at him. He smiled down at me, that self-important smirk that I had seen countless times in my mind. He took his hat off and sat it down on top of the desk. He ran one hand through his hair, accidentally bumping into one of his horns as he had done millions of times before.

It was amazing; he really _did_ look like Jason Lee. I wanted to ask him about it, along with scores of other questions. However all that came out was a sad little, "wha...?"

He shrugged. If he could do all the things he claimed that he could do, I was sure that he knew what I was thinking. If he knew of my questions, he chose to ignore them. Instead, he interlaced his fingers, pretending to crack his knuckles before beginning to type. After a couple of words, he paused and looked back down at me.

"You are going to writing an introduction for this, right?"

I nodded, "Sure."


	6. Azrael Quits 2

'i'm not good with making up titles' by azrael f. demon

where do i begin. why are these letters not alphabetical. typing is hard. fuck this chair is uncomfortable. that human on the floor is calling my typing hunting and pecking, i think that's an insult. though i feel no actual need to explain myself to... mortals... i would like to say a few things in response to certain things.

first off, i do not love my serendipity. i'm a fucking demon, i'm incapable of love. fuck i just wrote 'my serendipity'... i didn't mean that. she's not mine. i don't know which of these buttons fixes mistakes. bah. anyway, i don't love her. i didn't want anyone to know about what happened at that house. i would have preferred to not have had anything of my week as a human recounted. anything i may or may not have done was all because of those stupid pointless emotions i was cursed with in that form. i can not state enough that i do not love her. i never have. i never will. she is nothing to me. 

i also don't have a conscience. i don't care about that old lady i stayed with. i also don't care about killing delilah when she was a baby... or for every time i've ever hit her or otherwise mistreated her since. that's pretty much all i do yet that stupid fucking girl is in love with me, i think. i hate human. i hate angels. i hate demons. and she is some mixed up combination of all three, so i most definitely hate her. i look at her when she's smiling at me, cooing some pathetic words at me, and i think ... i think about what it would feel like to rip her wings off with my bare hands. she looks at me and thinks about love and babies and her domestic fantasy of us being a happy human family... none of which could ever happen even if i wanted it to, which i don't. i look at her and think about ways i'd like to kill and/or rape her. i can't help it. i'm a fucking demon, it's what i do. i'm black and empty inside.

oh sure i could act on just about every impulse i naturally have as a demon if i were to get a job in the pit. but i'm an artist. i long to create not destroy. though i would sooner destroy myself and the entire realm of existence if it were to save me from ever having to set foot in hell again. i hate that place more than anything. it's not just the heat, the stench, the wailing, the feeling of inner decay... the utter perversity of things i see on a day to day basis. shit that your puny human mind would completely twist around. you would die from looking at it for a minute or two. i see it constantly. it's in my mind all the time. the pain of the mortal souls infests me. and all because i refused to harm my friends for a cause i didn't believe in. fuck. not just because of all those reasons, but i also hate hell because i've lost count of the number of times i've been beaten down there. over and over again. once i lost my gentle angel ways, i tried to fight back but it was utterly useless. the thing about the pit is that you can't really fight back against a higher ranking demon and every demon is higher than me. they know i don't belong there. they see me as an angel still. a muse. whatever. they let me try to fight back, but they laugh and over power me. it's a different sort of pain than one would get on earth, from say a knife or, well, a golf club. i'm still not used to the having something holy jabbed into me sort of pain, but i'm well accustomed to the sort the demons rein down. i would say my fellow demons, but i'm not one of them. sometimes it's just a swift pummeling. more often than not it's much, much worse. if you can imagine it, it's probably been done at one time or another. things you can't even imagine. it doesn't feel the same as the time i was beaten up during the transition. it's not a feeling humans, not even the ones in the pit, can relate to. it is one that they are lucky to never experiance. 

saminga is by far the worst. he enjoys hurting me. i think it's a hobby for him. a past time. hell, maybe it's his full time job. he's nothing but pure evil. mean bastard who works directly for them. outside of the ones we're never allowed to see, saminga is about as high ranking demon as they come. i think he regards me lower than the mortals. he'll fuck me up beyond recognition, wait on my regenerative powers to completely heal the damage he's done, and he'll start again... usually laughing the entire time. i hate that laugh. 

back to the story though, i also did not cry. demons do not cry, and i don't want it to get back to the pit that i did... which i didn't. and that business with delilah is false. i fucked her for hours and she yelled my name. my former angel friends can vouch for that because i told them the very next time i saw them. delilah on the other hand is pissed about me being in lov... scratch that, she's pissed about stuff. so she would probably just make up some story about how i didn't know what i was doing, how i was clumsy, how i didn't satisfy her, how i came on her leg... um... all of which isn't true. i'm a great lover. best ever. it's a shame i don't get to do it more often. 

that human on the floor is getting restless. perhaps i'll stop writing this now and see what it wants. i believe i've made my point. i'm not just inspiring this whats it called... fan fiction says the human. i'm trying to tell my story. the human is giving me that look i don't like. i guess this means i'm no longer on strike as a muse. now to go see what all this staring is about. i guess this is where i should write – the end.


End file.
